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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23879878">Musings of a virus</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressdarlingSweetling/pseuds/EmpressdarlingSweetling'>EmpressdarlingSweetling</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prototype (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:54:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,665</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23879878</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressdarlingSweetling/pseuds/EmpressdarlingSweetling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A little insight into the mind of Elizabeth Greene.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alex Mercer &amp; Dana Mercer, Alex Mercer/Karen Parker, Elizabeth Greene/Alex Mercer, Elizabeth Greene/Dana Mercer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Musings of a virus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I believe I am an eternal entity. Viruses don’t think, though it is  when linked to a thought process. No beginning. Striving towards an uncertain end. I persist in a cramped, narrow world with very few changes, but no assurance of stability. A sudden surge of memory from a detached part of myself reminds me otherwise. Someone who flickers on and off like a light switch. Present on occasions but sometimes buried so deep she is virtually nonexistent. I recall her in small moments of clarity; I was a person... once... with a beginning, a present and an incomplete end. </p><p>The girl, Elizabeth, they call me, is the outer shell I wear. I know her. My glass prison reveals her to me. A faint, shadowy outline whose features never change from their blank, sallow visage. She is the face through which others see me. I think she was young... by human standards. Viruses don't really dwell on time... unless it is to count the seconds until obliteration by a real threat. Everything else is irrelevant. Survival is the sole thought, embedded into each and every microbe of my variable structure. Though, at times, I am not certain that I am a true virus. Sometimes feel more like a parasite, moving around in a living host. No, more than just a parasite. I can control my host, think and even  'feel' a little. I can move my mouth to express little words of unhappiness, not that it makes a difference. My host desired nothing more than to sink into oblivion and forget about this nightmare.  </p><p>In my case, my host is a young, post-pubescent girl whose blood ran rich with nutrients and other additives while her flesh was ripe for incubation. Her body was the perfect habitat for breeding. I expected to prosper. Imagine my displeasure, a human emotion that I borrowed, when I was subjected to such horrendous limitations and interferences.  A virus can hold no real feelings for the world around it, but the circumstances were incredibly inhibiting.   </p><p> Not to mention terribly invasive. Hence, emotions for the horrible treatment those lesser beings forced me to endure surfaced from the brink of human consciousness. The ones imbibed from the host after assimilation. It was further intensified when a part of me was ripped apart. A baby, imbued with part of my DNA. It was then I understood the cold indifference of steel to my suffering. The brutal obligation of rubber fingers burrowing inside my host. </p><p>I registered every sizzle of quiet protest because my host transmitted it to me. From that day onwards, I tasted the full extent of my captors’ cruelty. I probably wouldn't have minded the onslaught... had I not been consciously aware of it. </p><p>Needles constantly jabbed into me. Eyes scrutinized me from every angle. Masked men stole bits and pieces of me to study. They mercilessly plundered from, uncaring as they removed fragments from my body. It was revolting; certainly not treatment befitting an advanced species of virus. I adapted to their assault by generating new pathogens. One of my strains must contain the potential to utilize the life materials of these humans for my survival. </p><p>Time, as I said, is inconsequential. Nevertheless, even I felt it ooze, painfully slowly, through my stiff fingers. Time, locations and people, were all trivial details that I discarded. The behaviour of my captors, their feelings and the little characteristics they displayed in the face of my potential... Each facet that fit into my larger plan was carefully appraised in view of my survival. I annexed it all into the cobwebs of internal memory. It would be useful later. </p><p>The arrival of him warranted intense scrutiny. On our first meeting, he introduced himself in a manner I wasn't accustomed to... </p><p>I had met scientists with fear and awe colouring their gazes in equal measure. Other scientists whose eyes were silvered with critical examination... as if I must be imperfect and that a flaw simply needed to be discovered. Then the furrow of their brow would deepen, their eyes reduced to mere slits that glittered coldly as they went to work.  </p><p>A few would let their mouths hang open behind their special masks, their eyes hidden behind the cover of thick goggles. Apparently, they assumed I was capable of wielding the power of Medusa. They wanted to be doubly reassured of their safety. The corners of my mouth would twitch upwards in a smile.  Upon attracting their undivided attention, the smile stretched and stretched until it curved beneath luminous eyes that sharpened and stared disconcertingly. They could see the young woman's incisors under thin lips, looking for all the world like fangs itching to tear into soft, supple flesh. The pitiful creatures shrank away, seeking out the warmth of shadows, away from the blaring light that heightened the brutality of my features. </p><p>Few remained, their feet firmly planted into the concrete when I did my trick, covering their obvious nervousness under a pathetic display of imperiousness. The tiny facial spasms belied the terror that courted them.  </p><p>This man, Alex Mercer, was entirely different from all the rest. I could discern something unique crawling under the façade of a brilliant scientist. </p><p>My life was constantly interrupted with a battery of questions. At times, they retrieved the answers from me. I had to work consciously to dredge some coherent replies out of the weak synapses passing through the festering, bubbling mass enclosed in my skull. Other occasions, they seized what they wanted by violating me, stripping valuable sections of memory from my host. I was nothing more than what I could give them… </p><p>He was different.. </p><p>He spoke to me. Not with words, but with subtle nuances that breached the flimsy line between the supernatural and scientific.   </p><p>M hen his eyes cascaded down over my form, I sensed something else, something other than interest. It shifted behind his probing stare. I smirked. He responded with the barest suggestion of a sneer. Eyes as dark and deep as the ocean flickered with emotions I had learned to recognize. One in particular filled me with an odd, twisted feeling of hope: Greed. Or was it the lust that was strangely more significant? Could I pierce his soul through the inquisitive mind of a scientist? Reshape it. Make it one with mine. Yes. I understood immediately that he had very little in common with the other researchers. None before him could measure up to his driven, ambitious nature. None were as willing—or at least they demonstrated a fair amount of reluctance-- to break the existing constraints and embrace a twisted world where I, as an advanced life form, was far superior and significant. </p><p>I think I am in love. The absurdity of the little wave of thought invokes little scintillations across my nervous system. My meeting with Alex was nothing out of the ordinary. As I mentioned, I lived a life in very tight constraints. Loosing time only when a foreign substance was pumped into my veins and every little piece of viral material halted in shock. I awoke in the same surroundings. Metal panelling. The sharp, sanitary sting in the air. My body trapped in a restrictive setting. Nobody ever forgot to tighten the biting, cold straps across my body and legs. The ones holding my neck and head in place were especially taut.  </p><p>The light overhead was bright, very vividly white. I could feel its intense, hot rays piercing through my eyes into the back of my head. The light was meant to disarm and blind. Rob my filmy, pale eyes of whatever little sight they retained. I endured..I gave..I kept silent. Not like they were concerned with what a virus had to say. I could move my fleshy, thick organ in my mouth to propel words so they emerged in a languid, slow hiss. They didn’t trust me. Somehow struck my deafness. The girl shifts inside me. Unlike me, she is not comforted by the viruses born from her amazing vessel. They split from me to attempt to carve their own niche. I can sense their potential. Dancing under my skin. Flowing through my blood. Twisting beside my organs.  </p><p>They feel my wrath and hatred. They feed on it, absorbing it into their structure as I have. I know it is survival. She thinks of it as retribution.  The human desire. I correctly assume it has build to a human need. Accumulating and throbbing in the little centre she calls her own. Her human emotions are too intense for my liking..and disruptive. I believe as hot and extreme as a firecracker.  Bursting at odd times. Often with hazy pictures I can barely make sense of. Women with blurred, pale faces. Their mouths move but all I hear is static.  Their eyes are always listless and far-away, tinted with primal fear. I don’t know what to call them. She doesn’t either. At this point, she curls within herself, resigning herself to silence. It is these moments. I am paralyzed by the sudden influx of fear, rage, loss and loneliness. The turbulent emotions roll over me with a devastating force, curdling my blood. My life forms. They choke and dissipate. Returning to the cells from which they came.  </p><p>The scientists would arrive later, feet stomping the floor. They swarm their machines, fingers flying across the buttons and knobs.  The machine must have picked up something of my condition. Mummers would fill the air. Harsh, rapid whispers that started quiet and controlled, then slowly grew to an angry buzzing. They would crowd around me. Eyes large and harsh. They attack me with reproach and animosity. Condemning my failure as a mother? -a vessel? I return their glowers, face calm and almost serene.  I cannot stir any emotion for my loss. The doorkeeper of my emotions is Elizabeth. All I can manage is a slight lowering of my head and a downward flicker of my dry, fused eyelashes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just something that came to me, this is the thoughts of Elizabeth Greene, cause she seems like such an interesting character</p></blockquote></div></div>
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